


Metal on the edge of a knife

by Obsessed Romantic (2SFlovers)



Series: Shining [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2SFlovers/pseuds/Obsessed%20Romantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One little decision changes just about everything. Some events, however, might just be inevitable. And it turns out - Scott isn't the only one hiding something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dance

=========================

''You mean you have to go find Jackson.'' 

  


Lydia forced herself to look up, to see the disappointed hurt in his eyes. And was surprised. She saw the hurt, yes. More than she expected, really. But there wasn't disappointment. A fond resignation. Like he had expected the dance to end like this: abandoned on the gym floor while she went running off after someone else. Like it didn't matter that she was hurting him, rejecting him; as long as it made her happy. When was the last time Jackson had thought about what made her happy? 

  


''It's okay.'' Soothing. Calm. He was making her ashamed, how mature he was being about this. She knew her ex-boyfriend (and didn't that still sting?) would've thrown a total fit if she'd tried to end a date before he was done showing off. All she had to do was look at how he'd arrived at the dance. Drunk and disdainful, like he was so much better than everyone and everything around him. Like he (his wants, his needs) was the only thing that mattered in the universe. She was tired, she realized suddenly, feeling almost dizzy with it. Tired of putting up with the attitude, the insecurities. Tired of coming in second place to his ego. 

  


Tired …....... of pretending to be a nitwit. 

  


''Lydia? Are you okay? Should I call Jackson?'' 

  


''No.'' She put her hands back on his shoulders ( broader than expected, who knew? ) and smiled. A real smile, letting her teeth and dimples show. Letting it reach her eyes. ''No, I changed my mind.'' She tossed her hair over her shoulders and lifted her chin. ''I don't want a break.'' The shock on his face was painful, but the sheer joy was overtaking it, fast; and turning his light brown eyes a pale gold. ''Dance with me, Stiles.'' His hands were warm on her waist, fingers trembling but sure.

  


''As you wish.''

  


-*-*-*-*-* 

  


''This was fun.'' Lydia sighed, tangling her fingers with his. She glanced sideways and saw the utter shock on his face. His hand was shaking in hers and she squeezed it gently. ''That was a hint, Stiles.''

  


''Yeah?'' He squeaked a little, making the word two syllables instead of one. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. ''Does that... does that mean ….. I mean, if I asked you …....'' He trailed off, and she stopped walking; hoping he'd snap out of his nervousness. Glancing up, it was obvious that nervous (however adorable) had been replaced with concern. She followed the direction of his gaze to see what had happened to Scott.

  


Only it wasn't Scott he was looking at.

  


''Jackson?'' Either he didn't notice that he was dragging her over to the other boy; or figured she wouldn't have a problem with it. Which she didn't, once she'd taken in his appearance. He was pale, slightly sweaty, and even shaking a little. It wasn't the booze; she knew (unfortunately, from experience) how that changed his face. This was an expression she hadn't seen before. What was going on? ''Jackson?'' Stiles stopped just out of arm's reach of the other boy. ''You okay?''

  


''I was …. I was out behind the school......'' He wasn't slurring his words, but he did seem pretty out of it; his voice trembling and weak. 

  


''Jackson, what happened?'' Stiles let go of her hand, reaching out; and she was struck again by the difference between the two. If their roles were reversed, she couldn't see her ex doing anything but mocking the slimmer boy. New options and opportunities were revealing themselves to her – if she could figure out what was going on, that is.

  


''I ….. I was behind the school..... Allison's Dad......'' He swallowed visibly and his eyes shifted. Lydia frowned, barely having time to wonder why he seemed so nervous before Stiles stepped forward, eyes narrowing and hands clenching. 

  


''Jackson.'' His voice cracked out, sharp, and she barely refrained from jumping. The sweet, slightly geeky but somehow charming boy had just shifted into something ….. dangerous. She pushed the little thrill that gave her to the back of her mind. Now was not the time. ''What did you do?'' He was glaring, now; the air almost vibrating around him. ''Jackson! Did you tell him about Scott?''

  


''Why would Mister Argent care about.....'' She didn't get to finish the question, because the blonde boy had nodded, gaze still averted. 

  


And Stiles exploded. 

  


''Son of a bitch!'' He grabbed the lapels of the Hugo Boss (plebe – the truly stylish didn't need to name-drop) jacket and shoved; sending his rival back into the lockers. Moving faster than she'd ever seen him move on the lacrosse field, Stiles dodged to the side to avoid Jackson's lunge and landed a sold punch to the others stomach. Apparently directly to the diaphragm, as the taller boy coughed and heaved; falling to his hands and knees. ''You better hope he's safe and sound when I find him, Jackass, or your life is over.''

  


''You … you can't …..'' Jackson gave one last wheezing hack and sat unsteadily back on his heels. The crowd that had gathered (why was it that fights always summoned a crowd, no matter how deserted the venue?) was murmuring, someone asking if Danny or Coach Finstock would be a better choice for settling things down. She was pretty sure neither would be effective. This had the feel of a speeding train, with no Superman (or, in this case, Scott McCall) to put a stop to it. ''You can't just threaten to kill me, Stilinski. I have witnesses.''

  


''Who said anything about killing you?'' People actually stepped back when her date smirked, crouching down so he could look directly into the eyes of the school's most popular jock. Who was looking away from the amber stare aimed at him. The brunette gripped the other boy's chin, gently forcing his face up. ''I know you.'' Soft, nearly a whisper; but loud as thunder in the suddenly quiet hall. No one dared move. Several people appeared to be holding their breath. ''I know your hopes, your dreams, your motivations. I know all your secrets. Things it would destroy you for anyone else to know.'' Letting go, standing up; Stiles' mouth was still twisted up in that unsettling little quirk. Lydia distinctly heard someone whimper; a 'click' of heels as a girl stepped back. ''So pray Scott's okay, Whittmore. That he's okay and willing to talk me out of retaliating.'' He turned away, nearly snarling ''Because I'm done giving you a pass on your bullshit. Consider this your only warning.'' 

  


*-*-*-*-*- 

  


''What was that?'' Lydia skipped a few of the steps down the front entrance, balancing on her heels with the ease of long practice, and using the momentum to catch up to her date. ''Stiles, what is going on/'' She reached out and tugged on his arm. The surprise on his face was as brief as it was unsettling. It wasn't normal for him not to be hyper-aware of her every move. Or to be so distracted by his thoughts (or anything else, really) that he was …... He was pretty much ignoring her! ''Stiles!'' 

  


''I should take you home.'' He rubbed his hands over his buzzcut rapidly and sighed, looking like he was being pulled in five different, vital, directions at once. He still wasn't really focusing on her; apparently turned so inward he was barely aware of his surroundings. ''Yeah, take you home.''

  


''Or I could call Allison.'' She snapped, irritated at the fact he was obviously keeping things from her. Allison was the first real girl friend she'd had, and if something was going on (involving McCall or not) she deserved, she needed, to know. She recalled that the other girl had ridden to the dance with her ex and started ''Her dad could......'' 

  


''Not a good idea.'' His voice had gone hard and cold again. He was focused completely on her, now; and it wasn't as flattering or as comfortable as she remembered. ''I can take you home, no problem. Chris is probably a little busy right now, anyway.'' He frowned, hand twitching towards one pocket before he pulled his keys out from another. 

  


''How do you know that? Stiles.....'' She put her hands on her hips, giving him her best glare. The one that usually made even Harris cave. He didn't even blink, just extended a hand towards her; obviously intending to escort her to his junker of a vehicle. She smacked his hand away, annoyed and frustrated. ''No! Not until you tell me what's going on!'' 

  


''You don't........ ''

  


''Don't tell me I don't want to know!'' She was just shy of screaming and didn't even care. Things had felt off for months, ever since the new semester had begun. Mountain lions and Jackson dumping her and Allison's weird definition of 'errand' and self-igniting Molotov cocktails. A serial killer, of all things. In Beacon Hills. All of the weird and frightening things that had happened; all of it seemingly centered around the former losers Scott-and-Stiles. ''I want to know!''

  


''Are you sure?'' Stiles stepped closer, gaze so intense it nearly glowed. He put his hands on her shoulders and she flinched from the chill of his skin. ''Be sure, Lydia. Be very, very sure. Because this isn't something you can take a couple Xanax and forget. This is some next-level screwed-up shit that, if it doesn't get you killed, literally get you killed; will definitely fuck you up for life.'' His voice was deep with concern and ….. was that fear? She hadn't known he was even aware of that emotion. ''So be sure.''

  


''I'm sure.'' She put her hands over his, holding them in position. Lydia met his amber eyes squarely as they searched her face, looking for who-knew-what. He apparently found it, because he nodded, dropping his head briefly as he took a fortifying breath. ''But later.'' His head snapped back up, confusion all over his pale face. ''Scott, remember? For some reason, you're worried about Mr. Argent and Scott.''

  


''How did......''

  


''No more nitwit.'' She smiled at him, reaching up to pat his cheek fondly. He blinked, and smiled back. A grin that transformed his face from just mildly pleasing to completely adorable. It was a shame they had to cut the evening short, really. A quick peck goodnight was no measure of what he really kissed like; and that was vital information to have if she was going to invest any time or effort into a relationship with him. Maybe tomorrow? When he came over (she wasn't going to let him chicken out and phone) to read her in on current events. Honesty deserved a reward, after all. And those plans wouldn't come to fruition if they dawdled in the school parking lot all night. ''Feels good, actually.''

  


''I'm glad.'' Still smiling, he turned on one heel; dropping his grip on her shoulders to extend one arm; just as he had when they'd arrived. Just as charmed as she'd been before, she tucked her hand in around his elbow and followed him to his Jeep. Accepting a hand up into the seat, Lydia settled her dress as he closed the door. Taking advantage of the few minutes Stiles was walking around the front of the car, she adjusted the rear view mirror to check her appearance. Blinking at the shadow in the back that looked just like a person, she was turning around when a hand landed on her left shoulder, another hand coming from the right to muffle her scream as a dark-haired man was suddenly right there. His breath ghosted over her ear, causing frightened tears to prick at her eyes.

  


''Ssshhh. It's alright.'' He whispered in cultured tones. ''Let's wait for your young paramour, shall we, Miss Martin? Wouldn't want anyone to feel left out.'' 


	2. Choices

 

0x0x0x0

 

Stiles secured the passenger door and rushed around the back of his Jeep to the driver's side. As much as he was worried about Scott, he was also kind of grateful that something had happened. Not something serious, of course. Please, not something serious. Just.....a little drama, a little stress. Just something to make things less than perfect. Something to make this night feel more like it was real. Something to cut the euphoria of Lydia (finally, finally!) paying attention to him so he wouldn't be driving under the influence of not only teenage hormones; but what felt like all of his dreams coming true. A little nightmare was actually a good thing. So long as it remains a little nightmare, he thought as he climbed into the driver's seat.

Later, he would kick himself six ways from Sunday for even thinking nightmares were in any way good.

''Okay, Lydia Martin's house. Please don't find it creepy that I know......'' His voice trailed off, hand frozen in the air from where he'd been checking the adjustment of his rear-view; what felt like his heart (and all of his other internal organs) leaping up to lodge in his throat. He jerked spasmodically around in his seat to face the terror in back. ''Peter. Please, don't. Please, don't hurt her. Please, please don't hurt her. Please.'' His voice broke and he had to take a breath to keep the tears at bay.

''Of course not.'' Peter's smooth voice sent a shiver down his spine to ice his blood stream and make his hands tremble. He swallowed hard and forced himself to meet the red gaze of the insane predator gripping Lydia from behind. ''So long as no one screams,. Or otherwise tries to attract attention.'' Slowly, the hand came away from her face. Stiles risked looking away to meet the terrified green eyes and reached out to squeeze her arm in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. The hold the older man had higher up on that arm probably didn't help sell it any more than his cold, shaky fingers; but he had to at least try. Speaking of trying........

''Let her go. Please, I'll do whatever you want, anything. Just please, please; let her go.'' He let his voice reflect his fear, his desperation. The shock was wearing off, however; and he was starting to think past his emotions; pushing them aside so that he could find them both a way out of this mess. Plans and schemes raced across his mind like he was flipping through the pages of a book. The calculating, knowing look in the glowing eyes when he turned back to the werewolf made his heart sink. At least now my throat is clear, he thought a little hysterically.

''Really, Stiles.'' Peter leaned forward and he held his breath, hands stuttering in an aborted attempt to snatch the girl out of the lunatic alpha's grip. He didn't see that ending well for either him or his date. ''You did promise to tell the young lady what is going on. I'm just providing ….. visual aids.'' The man inhaled barely a centimeter from pale skin, sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. ''Visual aids and motivation.'' The last was said in a growl, the threat clear.

''What do you want?'' He lowered his eyes, careful to keep his voice deferential and trembling. Fear didn't need to be faked, he was terrified that the slightest misstep would cause Lydia to be snatched away from him just as he was being allowed to see behind her masks. His submission, however, had to be convincing. Far more convincing than the lies he'd been telling his father for the last ….. God, had it really only been a month? Cursing his ADHD, he jerked his mind back on task. Get Lydia out of this safely, save Scott. Simple. All he had to do was focus.

Dammit, he knew he should've taken that extra dose of Adderall.

''I want you …... '' Peter didn't lean back, maintaining a position that would have strained the back of any non-supernatural man. ''….. to help me find Derek.''

''What?'' He'd been expecting something about Scott, about helping make his friend part of the new (bloodthirsty, revenge-crazed) Hale pack. He'd even prepared a story about how Chris had discovered Scott's secret; and Scott was therefore not as useful as bait for Allison, who was the only bait for the rest of the Argents. He was so shocked, he forgot to be cautious, that he had to choose his words so very, very carefully. ''How am I supposed to know.....NO!'' It was too late: long fangs were sinking into the creamy shoulder; deceptively graceful hand snaking back around to muffle the screaming. He barely heard his babbling apologies, desperate pleas for the elder Hale to stop, promises of things he could never in a million years deliver. All he could hear were her smothered gasps and cries accenting the pounding, frantic heartbeat in his ears. All he could see were the red trails streaming down her bicep. After what seemed a century, the man lifted his mouth away, showing a deep bite and a bloody grin. ''I don't know where he is.'' He was crying. When had he started crying? He yanked his tie loose, ignoring the damp and snot on his face; untying the knot so he could make a haphazard bandage for Lydia's arm. The older man watched him render first aid with a smug little smile, chin resting on the trembling shoulder. Stiles was starting to get angry, something he couldn't risk in the current situation. Nevertheless, it put an edge into his snapped ''How could I possibly know that?''

''Because you're the clever one, aren't you, Stiles?''

''I'm not that …..''

''Clever enough to link the murders and the fire before anyone else, including your father.''

''I had inside infor....''

''Clever enough to figure out that I was the Alpha and come up with a plan where Derek would think he was the one who'd solved it.''

''You're giving me too much......''

''Clever enough to stall in the hope that one of your fellow students or, even better, a chaperone; will approach and force me to run .'' Stiles swallowed. He glanced over at Lydia; hoping she wasn't angry at him for failing to get them out of this. Her smile was shaky, but her gaze held as much support as it did fear. The only blame and rage he saw was when she cut her eyes to the left. Peter smirked and shifted position, the redhead hissing in pain as he dug the claws of his right hand into her stomach, stroking red hair away from her neck in a manner as threatening as it was tender with his left. ''Tell your young paramour what he should do now, Lydia. Maybe he'll listen to _you_.''

''Sta....Start the car.'' She gasped, tears flowing down her face once more. ''Stiles...''

''Yeah.'' He turned the key and shifted harshly into gear, turning forward to drive. Crashing the Jeep wasn't an option – the werewolf was more likely to survive then the two teens were. Getting pulled over was also not a great plan; just a good way to get one of his father's deputies ripped apart. Stiles was still trying to come up with something when they reached the end of the block. Inspiration for at least a partial strategy hit and he immediately turned left. ''Where are we going?'' The tone of voice was pleasant, mildly curious; but there was a growl under the words. Apparently, the Alpha did NOT like being kept in the dark.

''The hospital.''

''Really.'' Lydia whimpered as claws tapped softly on her neck. He tried not to think about how much blood she was losing from the other set. ''And why should I allow that? What's in it for me that's worth losing your assistance?''

''You won't.'' Stiles sent up a prayer that Scott wasn't in any immediate danger. He had to save her, nothing else mattered; not even his heart's brother. Focus, he chided himself. You have to **focus,** or you're not gonna save anybody. ''Seriously. The lights at the east side of the ER parking lot are out. Some kind of dispute over whether the city or the hospital should pay to repair them. We drop Lydia off there, with my.........'' Facts clicked into place in his head, one leading to another until the pattern was clear. Like a picture made of dominoes – it was only really visible when they had fallen into each other. The rush from knowing made him check out for a few seconds.

''With your what?'' The man in the back seat snarled impatiently. Maybe it'd been more than a few seconds. Shit. Definitely should've taken that extra Adderall. ''What trick are you.....?''

''No trick.'' He checked the intersection and ran the red light. Patrol patterns for nights during school events (games, dances, etc) weren't anywhere near this area right now. He'd never been so glad he'd memorized the patrol schedules before. The last thing he needed in his tentative scheme was outside interference. ''Scott lost his phone.''

''What a tragedy.'' Sarcasm dripped from every word, claws stilling with purpose just under Lydia's ear.

''He last had it when he confronted Derek about Jackson.'' He had to talk fast, faster than a psychopath's loss of temper; but not so fast he'd lose coherency. ''I think Derek grabbed it during the fight.''

''Why?'' It was almost two syllables. Honest confusion, no anger or sarcasm. On the plus side, he'd managed to flummox the older man. Which meant he stood a chance of outwitting him later on. Down side? His date was still bleeding. At least the blood was a bright crimson. He thought he'd read that somewhere – the darker the blood, the worse the wound. He yanked his attention back to the matter at hand.

Or claw, as the case may be, he thought somewhat hysterically. **Focus!** Using his dad's voice for mental chastisement seemed to work; his mind almost immediately felt a little clearer.

''I think he knew he was going to be captured.'' He was certain of it, actually. Which cast a whole new light onto Derek's previous actions. When everyone was safe, provided they all lived through this; he needed to sit his buddy down and have a serious discussion about apologizing to the younger Hale. Accusing him of murder (and whatever the charges were for that night at the school) wasn't any way for them to treat a guy who kept trying to save their lives.

''The Argents don't exactly follow the Geneva convention, Stiles. They don't even follow their own precious code.'' He hadn't heard rage that fierce before in his life – not even when his grandmother talked about the Holocaust. ''No phone calls.''

''He doesn't have to call.'' Lydia murmured, hands white-knuckled around her seat belt. He was glad she was able to speak past the pain. Also that she was following the conversation well enough that she was able to contribute. It said good things about her chances, once she received medical help.

''No texting either, my dear.'' Peter chided, sounding amused. Stiles snapped off his lights as they turned onto the street for the hospital. The lights being out over the parking lot wouldn't count for shit if his own lit them up like a flare. Flare. There was thought. He put it aside for the moment.

''He's been in a coma for the past six years.'' The puzzled look cleared from the girl's face and she took a deep breath. Hand shaking, she clicked her seat belt loose.

''Phones have GPS now.'' She explained to her attacker. He couldn't figure out why she was twitching her legs like that. It obviously wasn't helping with the claws piercing her stomach; not from the way she'd pause and gasp every couple seconds. A soft thunk made him realize she'd been taking off her shoes. ''So, if the phone is still on him, and still charged.....'' She must be light-headed as fuck if she was removing her heels. He'd seen her run wearing those foot-stilts and never even wobble.

''We can use it to find him.'' The werewolf sounded relieved. He would've had more sympathy for the note of concern in the other's voice – if it wasn't obvious he was only concerned for the safety of his 'pack' so he could use them to commit more murders. ''Well done.' Finally, finally; the claws were removed from Lydia's abdomen.

''Tell them he wore a mask.'' Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He started a text as he went on. ''He had tiger claws – a glove/bracelet thing w/metal hooks on the ends – and fake teeth.....''

''Sharpened.'' She interrupted. ''He'd sharpened his teeth because he honestly believes he's a werewolf.'' Her hands were shaking, but she opened the door on the first try.

''Good idea.'' He held out his phone. ''I typed out a text to the emergency desk. All you have to do is touch 'send'. They'll come right out to get you.'' Her fingers were colder than his as she accepted the cell he pressed into her palm. He tried not to think about why that was bad. Girls had got colder faster, right? Something about body mass. She'd be fine.

She'd be fine.

 ''Wait until we've left to send it, sweetheart.'' He wanted to rip the man's throat out for that falsely affectionate tone. Using his teeth. ''Close the door, now.''

Glaring at the Alpha, shooting him a look he couldn't decipher - the girl he was someday going to marry pushed the passenger door closed and stepped back. Pulling away from the curb, he couldn't help one last glance into the rearview mirror. She had her head tilted down to look at her hands. Good, she wasn't going to try and walk. Or faint before she could send the SOS. Turning the corner at the end of the block, he flicked his lights back on. With Lydia out of the line of fire, it was much, much easier to think. Tentative plans laid themselves out in front of him, percentages for success rolling alongside each one.

''Head for the mall.'' He didn't question, just drove. The time for resistance, true or false, wasn't just yet. Soon, though. The older man wouldn't believe he'd just roll over so quickly – he'd have to protest soon. Not much, just enough to be believable. Just enough to be convincing, to keep things going the direction he wanted them to.

'The clever one'.

Peter Hale was about to find out just how clever Stiles Stilinski really was.


	3. Decisions

 

_(_

Stiles waited until the nurse's car turned the far corner. Waited five minutes more to be sure the psychotic werewolf wasn't going to circle back. Just as the silence was starting to feel like it was a physical presence, his internal clock reached zero and he started running his hands over his Jeep. Inside the wheel wells, under the bumper – he even checked under the hood. He'd misplaced his keys far too many times to rely on only one set. After a new deputy had hauled him in for hot-wiring his own car; his father had gotten him several extra copies. Scott, Scott's mom, and the Sheriff all had a set and, more importantly; there was one in a magnetic box attached to his beloved vehicle.

 

If he could just remember where the damn thing was.

 

Finally, his fingers found the little rectangle (below the door on the driver's side, what a sensible place, how'd it get there?) and practically leaped into the seat. Starting the engine, he reminded himself that he couldn't drive as wildly as his heart was racing. Getting pulled over and/or in a wreck wasn't going to help anyone. He went over the plans he'd made to keep himself from panicking while he talked with Peter. Much as he wanted to rush right over to the hospital to check on Lydia, there were other things he had to do first.

 

Noting that he was driving through Beacon Hill's version of a posh neighborhood, he choose one of the riskier plans. Well, risky in the sense that he didn't know if he was going to be able to convince Allison's father to help him. There was actually a high possibility of both success and him getting out of this mess alive . Scott and Derek and their unknown status (where they together? Was Derek still a prisoner?) however, was what made it so chancy. Spotting the Argent house, he let his jaw drop for a brief second before clenching it in a disbelieving rage.

 

Chris was getting into the driver's seat of an SUV with tinted windows. Three other men (heavily armed and solemn-faced) were shutting the doors as their leader started the engine. Gunning his own, Stiles raced down the street, sending mental apologies to his mother as he yanked on the steering wheel to make a screeching turn right into the path of the hunter's vehicle. Points to Argent, there wasn't more than a loud thunk when the vehicles connected, as the older man slammed on his brakes almost supernaturally fast. Knowing there hadn't been enough damage to incapacitate their truck; Stiles yanked up the parking brake and turned off the engine, taking out the key.

 

Jumping free of his Jeep, he raced to the rear passenger side of the SUV and shoved his key point-first into the tire. There was a satisfying 'pop' and he stumbled around to get the other rear. This time, seeing Chris (with a murderous expression) headed his way out of the corner of his eye; he pushed the key all the way inside the tire. In front of the garage as they were, it would be some time before any vehicle was leaving the Argent house. He barely had time to congratulate himself on that when the hunter grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the side of the automobile.

 

''Have you lost your mind?!'' The yelling wasn't as loud as Stiles could tell the guy wanted to make it. Neighbors, y'know. Probably call the cops on him for screaming and manhandling a teenager. ''What the hell do you think you're doing?!”

 

''Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.'' He gestured sharply to where the Argent goons (what? He called it like they acted.) were examining the mess he'd created. ''Unless you finally figured out who the Alpha is; this looks a lot like you're going to hunt down my best friend.''

 

''He's dangerous, Stiles; you have no idea how dangerous.'' The bastard was actually attempting a sympathetic face. He snorted derisively. He couldn't help it. It was such a load of crap.

 

''Right. I'm sure your focus on the teenager who's never hurt anyone over the murderer who's killed six people is all about danger and nothing to do with the fact he's in love with your daughter.'' Really, he almost deserved getting slammed into the side of the SUV (again, his back was gonna be one giant bruise, tomorrow) for that one. ''Oh, I'm sorry; was I not supposed to call you on your hypocritical bullshit?''

 

''I know you're just trying to protect your friend. But he's not the one who needs protection. He is dangerous, he will turn on you. You, and everyone else around him. He..........''

 

''Oh my god!'' Stiles laughed in his face. He had to let the stress out somehow, and trying to punch this guy seemed about as smart as punching a brick wall. He eventually pulled back from his near hysterics, noting that his (apparently unsettling) reaction had caused the older man to release him and back off a few paces. It'd also attracted the attention of the other hunters. ''What? You're serious?'' He scowled, glaring at the group. ''So, because my best friend, my all-but brother, might, **might** someday try to hurt someone; I should be okay with killing him? Dude.'' He focused on the careworn face in front of him. ''Tell me – is that the 'logic' your sister used when she burned the Hale house down?'' And there was the slamming again. Lovely.

 

''I don't know what Derek told you....'' Chris started, letting go with one hand to point a finger at him emphatically. He was so tempted to _bite_ it. Just to see the reaction.

 

''Derek? You think Derek tells me shit after I accused him of killing his sister?'' Stiles pushed at the older man, having had enough of being slammed into things tonight. That, and he had to wrap this up. He had several places to be in varying degrees of urgency. The 'get help from the hunters' idea was a bust, obviously; but he could plant the seeds for other, longer-termed plans. ''Please. I **investigated**. Y'know, figured things out by looking at facts and forensic evidence? All the cool kids are doing it these days.''

 

''And what do you think you found?''

 

''I don't _think_. I **_know_**.''

 

''My family operates by a code.''

 

''And no one ever breaks it, right?''

 

''That's right.''

 

''So you know all about Kate getting a job as a substitute French teacher. About her assigning Derek an early morning detention – the morning after a full moon, oddly enough. How she filed paperwork for custody of Derek while his family's house was. **Still. On. _Fire_**.'' He held back the rest of it. He didn't have evidence for his suspicions, after all. Just Derek's over-the-top reaction to the Allison/Scott thing to go on. Hearsay wasn't proof – as his dad had so loudly reminded him during the hours-long lecture on what kind of cop doesn't wait for the evidence before making assumptions or arrests. His father had never been so angry at him before, and he didn't want even a chance of a repeat of the experience. ''I'm sure that's all covered by the code, right? The murder of children is okay so long as they're not human, right?'' He tilted his head, letting his tone gentle a bit. ''You do realize what that makes you, right?''

 

''I'm not a Nazi!'' Chris protested, looking shaken and, thank God; like he was realizing some uncomfortable truths.

 

''Then don't act like one.''

 

''There's no key in the ….car.'' One of the thugs broke the silent contest of wills. Stiles sighed internally as he saw the walls go back up behind blue eyes. Dammit. He'd had him.

 

''Give me your keys, Stiles.''

 

''You want 'em?'' He pulled the crumbled keys out of his pocket, jangling them briefly (very briefly, can't let them see the keys are worthless) before spinning and throwing them as hard as he could. They sailed away into the darkness, jingling almost musically. ''Go fetch.''

 

He shoved at the nearest guy who wasn't Chris, counting on surprise (and his foot hooked behind the man's ankle) to trip him up long enough to get past. No way was he going to even consider trying to shock and awe his way past Allison's dad. Thanks to his own father, he knew Special Forces when he saw it; even if it wasn't technically Special Forces. Leaping over the flower bed, knowing he'd lose traction in the softer soil; he silently blessed Coach for making even the bench warmers run suicides. Between that, the distraction of the keys, and the fact he was human; he knew they wouldn't chase him very long. Sure enough, they only charged after him for a few strides before their leader called them back. He sped down the block, mentally flipping through his options now that he was without transportation.

 

*_*_*_*

 

He stared at the house as his feet automatically took him around the side. He'd gone to Lydia's? What the hell, brain? He knew no one would be home. By now, her parents would've been called to the hospital. His window of opportunity for dealing w/Peter (and saving Scott) was closing fast. He needed a car, why had he come here? Turning around, he weighed his options. There was a flash of light from the back yard of the house next door, and he realized why he'd come.

 

''Danny.''

 

Lydia and the school's undisputed 'nicest guy' had been best friends nearly as long as he and Scott. He'd been insanely jealous until he'd realized the goalie was gay. The grudge he'd held when the hacker had introduced his goddess to the douchebag supreme – well, there was a reason he'd gone looking into the guy's background. He hadn't believed it was just 'Jackson supported my coming out' that kept Danny from calling the jock on his attitude. And he'd been right. Part of the deal to keep young Mehealani out of juvenile detention had been the requirement to 'better' his friendship pool. So the lovable geek who hadn't cared about appearance and gushed over comics and video games and sci-fi had become Jackson's only friend. And, just like being his girlfriend – being that guy's friend apparently came with rules about appearance and behavior. His father's advice to let them make their own choices had been difficult to live with. If either one had seemed more miserable than average teenaged angst would account for - he would've stepped up his campaign of 'hey, consider the other options!' to something a little more proactive. There was a lot of drums in the music he was hearing, so he guessed that the date had continued from the dance. Bracing himself to see parts of Danny (and his boyfriend) he usually only saw in the locker room (in his peripheral vision, he wasn't a creeper), he peeked over the fence.

 

''Whoa.'' That was a surprise. A good one, actually. He pushed through the, thankfully, unlocked gate. ''Danny! Sorry to interrupt, but I need a favor or three.....''

 

''Stiles!'' Danny stopped his movements, gaping with shock and dropping the batons he'd been twirling. They rolled over the chalk patterns on the patio, coming to a stop near the edge of the pool. 'This isn't what it looks ….... ''

 

''No, it's cool. You're doing some kind of ritual to put wards up on your house. Smart. I'd do the same, but the Polish stuff is probably a lot bloodier.'' He eyed the boxer-briefs the other boy was wearing. ''And probably not as stylish. Look.....''

 

''What the heck are you talking about?'' Danny reached over and turned off the cd player. He scooped up the batons and put them on the lounge chair with the rest of his clothes. ''I'm practicing a dance for my grandmother's visit. She always likes to make sure I haven't forgotten my heritage living here on aina nui.''

 

''Oh.'' He rubbed his hands over his head. Great. He didn't have time for an in-depth explanation, but he knew he'd have to spill if he wanted the help he desperately needed. ''Yeah, okay. Sorry. Look...''

 

''Is that blood?'' He looked down, spotting the smear on his sleeve from when he'd been bandaging Lydia's arm. ''Is that Lydia's blood?'' The way he snatched up and held the pool skimmer reminded Stiles not only how good the guy was at goal – but that 'lacrosse' loosely translated into 'little war'. ''What have you done, Stiles?''

 

''Possibly sold out my best friend to a psychotic werewolf in order to keep Lydia alive.'' He watched the other realize he wasn't joking and frown in confusion. There had to be better ways of breaking this to someone; but he was running terrifyingly short of time. ''Pissed off the hunters looking to kill him by stalling them. How's your night?''

 

''Well, McCall ruined my date.'' Danny's brow was furrowed, obviously judging how serious (how sane) Stiles was. ''Had to burn off the energy, somehow.'' He turned away, setting the skimmer back down; and picked up his phone from where it was sitting by the player. From the way his eyebrows raced for his hairline, he had a **lot** of messages. He started rapidly flicking through them. ''This says I should call the cops if I see you, but not to talk to you because you're a hostage.'' Dark eyes made a show of looking around the yard.

 

''Yeah, I gave him what he wanted so he ditched me.'' He pushed aside the guilt and stood a little straighter, dropping all his usual mannerisms. It was a relief when the other boy recognized what his body language was saying. **Urgent. _Serious_**. His tone (deeper than usual, almost a growl) emphasized it even further. ''I need a vehicle. And anything I can make into a weapon.'' Observations from his brief stop at the Argent's clicked and he scowled at the realization. ''You need to get to the hospital.''

 

''I was gonna go in the morning.'' He was still putting his clothes back on. At speed, too. Stiles really should've tried harder to maintain this friendship. It was such a relief to deal with someone who picked up on subtle clues and didn't insist on having everything explained ad nauseum. ''Y'know, after she's stabilized and out of ICU?''

 

''She's in ICU?!” His voice hadn't rose and cracked like _that_ since he'd first hit puberty. He felt his heart stutter and his brain came to a horrified halt. ''Why?! Is it blood loss?! She wasn't bleeding that much!''

 

''There's some kind of allergic reaction?'' The goalie nodded towards his phone as he tied his shoes. ''Jackson said she keeps going into shock.''

 

''Jackson.'' Stiles snarled and tried not to let the anger overtake him. Now was the time to think, not to have a rage blackout. Taking a deep breath, he told himself to focus on the problem in front of him. ''Yeah, he's useless.''

 

''He's.....''

 

''He dumped her and he's a total coward. If some hunter tried to off her because she **might** become a werewolf and therefore be 'dangerous'; the only thing he'd do is let them.'' He shook himself, trying to get his nerves (his mind) back on track. It was working, oddly enough. Something about Danny just exuded calm. ''You, however, are a known friend of Lydia who can charm his way into her room, despite not being a relative. Keep anyone not Melissa McCall or approved by her from giving Lydia anything. Or taking her anywhere.''

 

''Stiles, I don't.....''

 

''I'm asking you to keep her safe, Mehealani. Can you do that?'' He let every worry, every horrible possibility show on his face. He felt tears pricking and closed his eyes to keep them at bay. He didn't have time to break down. He had things to do and, if this guy bailed on him; a **very** nasty choice to make. ''Danny....'' He was begging and didn't even care.

 

''I can do that.'' The hand on his arm was warm and strong. He let himself sag for a brief second and opened his gaze to see the normally jovial face set in stern lines. Stiles nodded and tried to think how many cars the taller boy had access to. ''Do you know where Scott is? I could send you some backup when the Sheriff.....''

 

''No!'' Just the thought of his dad trying to arrest Peter made the edges of his vision darken. Shoving aside the panic before it could become an attack, he stepped away from the goalie. ''No, he can't know. I have to keep him safe. I have.....'' He took a shuddering breath and grasped desperately for control. ''No, I just need some kind of weapon and a way to get to ….. the preserve.'' He would've tole him the truth, about going to the Hale house; but he didn't want to risk his Dad becoming involved. ''I don't suppose you have a gun?''

 

''Sorry.'' Danny motioned him towards the house anyway. ''What I do have is a way to get you where you're going quicker than any car.'' He held the door for Stiles and ran his eyes up and down the very nice outfit that had been put on ….... God, was it only two hours ago? ''And maybe some spare lacrosse gear would be better than what you're wearing?''

 

''I'm gonna start calling you Alfred.''

 

''You're not sane enough to be Batman, Stilinski.''

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I google the Hawai'in word. Aina nui means mainland, per the site I found. I apologize profusely if this in incorrect or isn't used properly. Sorry.


	4. Conflict

*.*.*

 

Stiles forced himself to remain at a slow jog when he heard the gunshots. He **wanted** to race ahead as fast as he could, desperate about the status of his best friend; but he knew doing that would make far too much noise. The only way his plan was going to work was if his entrance was a sudden and total surprise. Which was why he'd left Danny's ATV a good distance back. Also a factor was how much energy he was going to have when he got there. The energy drink and power bars he'd scarfed down at the Mahealani's – which visit felt like gearing up for an RPG or action movie, all that had been missing was theme music - was only going to do so much, especially since he could feel the effects of his Adderall wearing off. He was hoping that seeing Peter would spark enough of an adrenaline rush (from rage or fear, he wasn't picky) to finish this.

 

Reaching the tree line, he gave a quick glance around. The goggles he was wearing as part of his 'armor' (ATV gear, lacrosse pads, one of the goalie's spare jerseys) made things a little warped, but he could still see Allison crouched near two men, trying to rouse one of them. That must be Chris, then. The other was …. familiar; so probably one of the guys from earlier. Since the fight noises coming from the burnt-out shell consisted of roars and crashes, not the _crack_ of a gun or the _snap_ of electricity; he decided that Kate had already been dealt with, one way or another. Stiles didn't like the odds if he attempted to enter the building's remains – not with his tendency to trip at the worst possible times, the lack of moon or star light, and the cramped quarters. Not having enough room to maneuver was a concern for more than one reason. _Friendly fire isn't_ , he remembered his dad saying once. The success of this strategy, therefore, depended on having plenty of space.

 

He'd just prepared his supplies (emptying the backpack he'd borrowed and setting his equipment to hand) when Derek came flying out of the doorway to impact a tree a few feet to his right with a hard crunch. He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to wince at the horror of the noise and readying his first move. Scott came soaring out next, with less force (or leverage?) as his friend ended the lower arc by rolling to a stop a few feet from where the Argents were clustered to Stiles' left. Peter leaped from inside the shadowed interior to land in the middle of the yard, shifted into what Stiles wanted to call 'Crinos' form and roaring with blatant rage. _Melodramatic, much?_ He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and whistled for the insane Alpha's attention.

 

Not waiting for the head to snap around to his position, he launched the first balloon. It impacted beautifully into the werewolf's chest, followed shortly by the second balloon, which the elder Hale unfortunately caught. However, he wasn't as gentle as he needed to be and it burst on his claws, releasing a second load of kerosene. Snout wrinkling at the stench, the man growled at his attacker, then hesitated as the realization of what was coating his fur hit. A delay that cost him, as Stiles hadn't waited to see his second shot land any more than he had his first. He'd tossed the lacrosse stick off to the side with one hand and pulled out a flare gun with the other. Firing as soon as it was pointed in the correct direction, he was thrilled to see that his opponent's violent flinch away to avoid what was surely coming had moved him into position to catch the teenagers poorly aimed shot. In the shoulder, but the sparks of the flare were enough to light the fluid he'd been doused with.

 

Ignoring the howl of agony in the hopes it wouldn't haunt his dreams (knowing it would), Stiles dropped his second weapon and yanked the crowbar loose from where he'd stuck it in the ground. He was already running forward when the still-burning killer took a step towards a gaping Scott. Snarling in fury, he blessed the cleats he was wearing for their traction as he kicked off, leaped up, and swung the iron tool right at the man-wolf's head. Staggering back, the shifter swiped blindly, but the boy had ducked down as soon as he landed, crouching in front of his opponent. Claws scrapped the ATV helmet, which made him glad he'd taken Danny's advice on protective wear. Jabbing with his weapon, he smirked at the yelp when it connected, not with the knee that was out of range; but with the more-vulnerable groin.

 

N _o rule but survival,_ he reminded himself, using the hook on the end of the crowbar to catch Peter by the ankle. When the man staggered away, trying to regain his balance; Stiles spun in a circle, straightening up and stepping forward as he did so; swinging the tool with all the strength he had. _Use your hips!_ He remembered his dad coaching him for his Little League tryout. _That's where the power is!_ The blow struck the older man in the ribs, a sickening crunch drowning out the gurgle of a scream. There was a thud as the insane Alpha fell, flames that were already flickering dying out with the impact. Checking that the man was still breathing – for the moment, and apparently painfully – he hooked the bar on his belt and reached for his helmet. His own breathing was coming in great gasps as his body tried to decide if more adrenaline was needed or not. 

 

''Stiles?!'' Scott was standing, now; staring at him in shock. Shock, but not fear, he was glad to see. Unlike the girl who'd scrambled his buddy's brains just by existing. She was gazing at him with both hands over her mouth, tears running down her face. He decided to chalk her reaction up to the stress of the last few weeks.  _She'll get over it_ . He had something more important to do, anyway. 

 

''Hey, Scott.'' Stiles took a lungful of sweet, clear air and forced himself to let it out slowly. He tossed the helmet aside and motioned for this friend to join him. ''Come on.''

 

''What is it?'' Confusion replaced the shock, quickly followed by concern. ''Are you hurt? Did he scratch you?'' Suddenly, the was being felt up; unfortunately in an emergency room rather than bedroom fashion.

 

''I'm  **fine** , oh my God.'' He batted at the wandering hands gently. Reminding himself that this was for the other boy's own good, he grabbed him by the arm and yanked him around. ''Kill him.'' 

 

''….. what?''

 

''Kill him.'' Confused was back, joined by hurt and horror. He steeled himself and went on. ''Scott, you have to.''

 

''But...... ''

 

''He won't ever stop. He'll keep coming, keep trying to make you part of his pack.''

 

''You said.....''

 

''I still don't believe in a 'cure', this isn't about that. This is about you being  **safe** , Scott.'' He yanked, putting his almost-brother on his knees. Scott was obviously in shock, or he wouldn't be able to manhandle him this easily. He shifted his grip from bicep to the back of the neck. In his peripheral vision, he saw Derek's eyebrows climbing for his hairline as the werewolf braced himself on a tree. ''This is about keeping  **everyone** safe. He'll keep coming, you know he will.'' Stiles softened his voice, making it his most persuasive. ''Jackson. Lydia. Me. My dad. Your mom.'' 

 

''Stiles.....'' That was a familiar tone. The 'I know you're right, but I really don't like it and wish there was another way' tone. He'd heard that tone many a time.

 

''What about Allison? You know he's gonna come after her and her family. Whether they knew about Kate or not.'' Derek winced, but Allison glared.  _Interesting_ . He filed those reactions away and flexed his hand just enough to let his friend know he was there. Hardening his voice, he continued; hating himself a little as he did. ''Do it.'' His buddy actually flinched and he barely kept from doing the same. ''Do it, Scott. Do it.'' He pushed, shoving the other boy forward. ''Do it!'' 

 

''NO!'' Scott scrambled back, crab-walking away from the man who'd bit him and the best friend who'd stood by him all his life. Stiles let him go, hoping this wouldn't be what finally broke their relationship beyond repair. He saw Chris staring at him with an expression that seemed to be fighting between impressed and surprised.

 

''Still think he's dangerous?'' The hunter snorted and shook his head (denial? Or just amusement?), turning to tend to his minion (his dammingly familiar minion), and Stiles shifted his attention to Derek. Who was moving towards his uncle; face becoming blank as he knelt next to the severely burned but still breathing body. Head starting to ache from the adrenaline finally leaving his system, the young human call out softly; so softly only the werewolf would hear him. ''Derek. _Derek_.'' Conflicted eyes looked up, impatience in the twitching jaw; but no other sign of emotion on the shifted face. ''My condolences on the loss of your family.'' He meant it, too. He couldn't conceive of anything worse than what the last Hale was going through; than what the man was going to have to **do**. After the acknowledging nod, he put his back to the scene. The two men deserved at least the semblance of privacy for what had to be an incredibly painful and emotionally complicated moment.

 

And he had other things to focus on; like making sure his best friend didn't hate him.

 

''What do _you_ want?'' Wow, that was a lot of venom. He gave Allison the stink-eye for it. Just because she'd had a really stressful night didn't mean he was going to allow her to take it out on him. It wasn't like he'd (or any of them, really) had an easy time of it. The choices he'd had to make, the risks he'd taken – with his life, with the fates of those he loved – were going to be nightmare fodder for **months** to come; possibly even **years.**

 

''Hey, buddy.'' He crouched down in front of Scott, just out of arms reach. He didn't want to put the guy on the defensive, after all. Since he didn't plan on fighting back, if it came to blows; that wouldn't be ending all that well for him. Fortunately, he figured the near-murder experience had shaken the other boy so much he could fix this before violence entered into it. ''Hey.'' Puppy-brown eyes full of hurt and confusion focused on him, tearing up. _Oh, Scott. Always with your heart first_. ''Knew you wouldn't do it.'' Anger quickly replaced confusion, but there was still a massive (increased?) amount of hurt.

 

''You knew?! You......'' Stiles forced himself not to flinch from the shifted face, to ignore the glowing eyes; even though the last time he'd seen them this close, he'd only been saved from disembowelment by a fire extinguisher. _Good times_. ''Why? Why would you do that, '' a hand waved to one side, indicating their situation w/a flash of claws ''if you knew......?''

 

''So that _you_ would know.'' His friend actually reared back, the instinctual move of a confused canine. Which wasn't the first time he'd done such a thing, actually. Yeah, the guy was totally a puppy **before** the bite. In so many, many ways. Stiles smiled to himself as he waited; watching the confusion and hurt melt away under understanding and years of friendship. ''You couldn't just _tell_ me?'' the boy complained, grin pulling at his lips.

 

''I did.'' He stood up, holding out one arm for his nearly-brother to use to lever himself up.

 

''Did not.'' The grip was gentle, but familiar and friendly. He was forgiven, then. No way Scott would've even touched him if …. ''Jerk.'' Aaaaaand …. there was the in-joke. One of the little ways they re-connected on the rare occasions they fought. Unfortunately accompanied by hugging, this time (must be the more tactile nature of the wolf); but he'd take it. He'd take anything that meant he wasn't going to lose his best friend.

 

''Bitch.'' He whispered it. It was ten times funnier than usual, now; what with the whole werewolf thing. The two boys broke their embrace, eyes flicking up and down each others forms. A lifetime of assessing their health (asthma, panic attacks, Adderall over or under dosing, aftermath of bullies) meant they could evaluate their current state with a few glances and a couple brief touches. Stiles forestalled the concerned question he saw gathering in the shifting of that uneven jaw with a question of his own. ''Remember when you told me you wanted to be a vet?'' That did it. Scott usually wasn't this easy to distract; but he apparently wanted to understand why Stiles had done what he did mare than he wanted to be a worrywart. Seriously, Stiles was fine. Massive headache building, but **fine**.

 

Really.

 

''I.... that was ages ago! Before.......'' Again with the waved hand, this time without claws. _Before this_ _werewolf stuff ate our lives_ , the gesture said.

 

''Yeah, but do you remember how I responded?''

 

''I...... Yeah.'' There was his smile. The 'my best friend is insane, but brilliant, and I love all his crazy as a platonic brother' smile. It was a complicated expression for a straightforward guy like Scott; but any relationship Stiles had was going to be complicated – if only because he was involved. ''You said I'd be a good one, but only if I could find someone to take the college biology course for me.''

 

''Scott isn't stupid!'' Allison protested. Stiles flinched; honestly having forgotten she was there. It had just been the two of them for so long; he wasn't used to factoring in other people. And her voice (why was it suddenly so piercing?) wasn't helping the headache (migraine, with his luck) he had building.

 

''I wasn't saying he was.'' He allowed a little of his irritation with her to enter his tone. If she was here, it sure wasn't because Scott had brought her. Which meant she'd come with her aunt, as she hadn't been in the group he'd confronted at the Argent home. And **that** meant she hadn't come to the ruins of the Hale house with the intention of **rescuing** anyone. Maybe she'd thought they weren't going to hurt the weres, or that she could keep her aunt in check. Incredibly naive, and kind of stupid of her; but he was willing to give her some slack. Some. ''Just making the point that if he can't handle the _thought_ of dissecting an already-dead cat; he probably isn't going to be able to kill a human being, however psychotic.''

 

''I wasn't that freaked.''

 

''You threw up for two days.''

 

They probably would've continued, mending their friendship as they went; if they hadn't been interrupted by the man he'd assumed, despite the nagging sense of recognition, to be one of Chris' hunters.

 

''Leave the body, Hale.'' _Damn, that was a familiar voice. Why do I_ _ **know**_ _that voice?_ Stiles looked over to see Derek in the process of lifting his uncle's corpse into a bridal carry. Yeah, that wasn't a good idea at the moment. ''You can bury him after we establish the cover story, son.''

 

''Yeah, he's.....''

 

If his temples weren't throbbing so hard, if he wasn't so sore from ….everything, if he wasn't starting to go shocky from the adrenaline crash; he would've recognized the voice sooner. He would've recognized the **man** sooner, if there hadn't been so many other things of greater priority clamoring for his attention. When recognition **did** finally hit, several seconds slow; his head whipped around to stare at the man so sharply that he most likely gave himself whiplash.

 

'' _ **DAD?!**_ '' 

 

 

 


	5. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is looong. And I may have messed up the tenses. Also, not used to handling this many characters in one scene. Entire thing is from Stiles' POV, sorry if that isn't conveyed very well.

-x-x-x-x-

 

_''Dad?!''_

 

The next thing he knew, he was being lifted off his feet from behind, several voices shouting either at him or for his attention. Someone yanks the crowbar (when had he pulled that back out of his belt?) out of his hands. He struggles, his arms pinned to his sides; trying to get leverage to free himself. His head is agony, but he is supremely focused despite it. A raspy drawl injects itself into the chaos and he yells, thrashing.  _Him._ Stiles is going to kill  **him.** Obscenities flow from his lips, slowly taking his strength with.... No, that was something else. Pain was receding rapidly, quieting his movements and furrowing his brow with confusion. Scott had both arms wrapped tightly around him and, comforting as his father's gentle grip on his shoulder was, it wouldn't be causing his thundering pulse to recede to a slow, soft beat. Which left only one person who could be drawing the migraine out of him. 

 

Derek.

 

''I think he's calmed down.'' The broody bastard removed his hand from where he'd furtively slipped it up Stiles' sleeve. He glared at the guy through the euphoric lack of throbbing in his head. He got an un-intimidated shrug and, to add insult to injury; a smirk.

 

Asshole.

 

''Stiles?'' Scott's breath was warm on his ear, and  **that** was so many kinds of wrong that he jerked his head sharply away; nearly head-butting his father, who had leaned in to get a look at his eyes. His pupils were probably doing some pretty exciting things, because the man frowned in concern.

 

''How much extra Adderall did you take?'' That was his  _ your-father-the-sheriff _ voice – when he was being a concerned parent  **and** an officer of the law at the same time. The hand not on his shoulder twitched for the radio attached to his epaulet. Yeah, he was in  **so** much trouble. ''Stiles? Are you tracking?'' One finger came up and moved back and forth. He followed it with his gaze automatically, feeling Scott's sigh of relief travel through his friend's chest and into his own. He heaved his own sigh in response, relaxing his legs in what he hoped was a hint to be put down. 

 

''I don't think it was Adderall. I mean, before the dance, he said he didn't want to freak Lydia out by being all over-excited.'' Yes! His feet were once more on the ground. Score! His buddy's arms, however; were still restraining him. Damn.  _ Downside of best-friends-for-life-since-diapers: they know  **exactly** how sneaky you are.  _ ''I think...... I mean, it smells like.....'' 

 

''Red Bull.'' His father's sigh was one of disappointment and Stiles felt his gut clench. He  **hated** disappointing his father. He squirmed and glanced around uncomfortably. His gaze landed on Chris Argent, watching from behind where his daughter was pointing an arrow their way. When had they all shifted position? Then he remembered  **why** they probably shifted position and got pissed off all over again; though this time, he didn't lose control. No, this time the rage was icy and disdainful – leaving his head clear and focused. Although, that may have been the pain-drain Derek had given him. 

 

''What, I air some family laundry in front of your minions, so you try to get my father  **killed** ?'' He snarled, tensing up but making no move to get loose. Healing factor or not, he didn't want his buddy's girlfriend to shoot arrows into the guy. Could damage the relationship. Especially with her father giving Jackson a run for his money in the 'second biggest douche in the universe' competition. 

 

''I didn't try anything.'' Chris protested and he sneered scornfully at the man. He wasn't going to trust that guy, no matter how honorable he claimed to be. Sure, he (probably) wasn't involved in his sister's madness; but that was hardly a show of good behavior, considering what he  **had** been up to. Shooting crossbows at people,  **hunting** people (without doing any kind of investigation, or gathering any evidence) just because they weren't 'human'. Yeah, he was calling bullshit on the whole 'not a Nazi' thing. . 

 

''Stiles, I'm fine.'' The Sheriff hadn't removed the hand on his shoulder, and he briefly tightened the light grip; obviously hoping to convey his good health. Hard as it was, Stiles ignored him. Because if he spoke to his father right now, he was going to break down sobbing, and he really didn't need to show that kind of weakness in front of either the hunter (either of the hunters) or the Alpha.

 

''Right. Not trying to get him killed.'' He rolled his eyes so hard his head moved with them. Only Scott's quick thinking – or super-hearing picking up the soft noise of pain when he moved – in placing one tanned hand over his pale fingers kept the migraine from surging back. ''You just brought him out here completely defenseless.''

 

''Wolfsbane bullets aren't as effective as you may.....'' He interrupted before the human-centrist justifications could get too convoluted. He was starting to see why Derek was such a sourwolf. The specieist crap got real old, real fast.

 

''Wolfsbane? You think I'm talking about the fucking  _ werewolves _ , you piece of  _**shit** _ ?'' Stiles was practically growling, now. Allison's arrow coming back up from where she'd had it pointed at the ground. He must be really weirding her out, but he was entirely too livid to care. ''I'm talking about dragging him out here to arrest your psychotic  **bitch** of sister  **without a** _**vest** _ !'' Everyone's eyes darted to the Sheriff and he could feel Scott's grunt of shock turn into a growl of his own. 

 

''I …. Kate wouldn't......''

 

''Really? You're gonna try that  **here** ?'' His buddy had apparently let him go, because the arm flail in the direction of the remains of the Hale house was an actual gesture instead of just a twitch. He spared a few milliseconds to locate his friend, relieved and grateful to find him checking (and sniffing, not subtle, dude) the older Stilinski for injury. Well, aside from the bump to the head, swelling up impressively just to the rear of one temple. He pushed past that observation to continue his argument. '' _**Please,** _ Mr. Argent. **Do** tell me more about what your precious sister would or wouldn't do. You obviously have such  **great** understanding and control of the woman.'' He hadn't laid sarcasm on that thick since the last time he'd talked to Scott's father (reigning douche of the universe, unchallenged) back in grade school. Yes, he'd been a sarcastic little shit nearly from birth. No one who knew him (who met him, honestly) was surprised. Derek's snort was like punctuation and he instantly forgave the older man for the earlier stealth pain management. 

 

''My dad stopped her from shooting Scott. He wouldn't let her shoot your father, Stiles.'' Wow, she had a really lousy 'soothing the perp' voice. Maybe it was the strident note underneath. Maybe it was knowing that she'd come out here with Kate, intentions unknown.

 

Maybe it was the arrow still pointed in his direction.

 

''We can debate everyone's motivations and subsequent actions later.'' Sheriff Stilinski stepped forward, taking control of the situation with the easy authority that had carried him through his elections unopposed. Chris came to startled attention at the tone while Allison lowered her bow with the semi-guilty expression of someone being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Even Derek straightened up and focused in. He and Scott exchanged an amused glance before they, too, gave the man their attention. ''Right now we need a cover story. Starting with why Kate Argent set the fire back then and kept Derek hostage now. Peter Hale's actions are …... understandable, if not excusable ….....except for Laura. However, if we can get his nurse to agree he was already showing signs of lycanthropy......'' 

 

''You can't tell people he was a werewolf!'' Derek protested, shooting an obviously nervous look at the two Argents. That was some serious-ass PTSD brewing there. Or previously existent, really. The poor guy was in desperate need of some down time. Somewhere he could be sure he was safe, which limited the options. Stiles frowned as that thought lead to another and another until he had a half-baked plan. His father's voice pulled him back to current events.

 

''I'm not telling them he  **was** a werewolf, I'm saying he  **thought** he was a werewolf.'' The man's attention shifted to the hunter, even though his gaze never wavered from the young Alpha. ''You can get a tiger glove?'' He raised one hand in a 'grr-arrgh' movement; looking pained to be in a position where he had to think of this kind of thing, much less talk about it. It didn't bode well for the father/son talk looming in his own future. He put it aside to deal with later, hopefully never. ''Or some kind of ….claws.... that we can.....?'' He indicated the corpse and Chris nodded in understanding. His cell phone came out and he turned half towards the trees, obviously talking to his wife from the way his eyes softened. The rest of his face stayed still and somber, though. He gave the older man points for his emotional control, then remembered he was pissed at the guy and took them back. ''Okay. Okay. So......'' His dad ran a hand over his head, wincing when he came into contact with the goose egg that had formed. The man was so blatantly out of his depth. Give him a few days and some more information, and he wouldn't be floundering like he was. Argent looked up as he ended his call, opening his mouth: and Stiles jumped in before they could find out what hunters thought was a good cover story.

 

''Peter and Kate had a one night stand.'' He moved forward, missing the startled blink on Derek's face as the resemblance between father and son was suddenly, painfully, obvious. Scott smirked and nodded at his fellow werewolf before taking up a support position behind his best friend's right shoulder. The other teen fought down a mad grin at the show of allegiance. It felt good, having his almost-brother back him up again. ''Years before the fire. She thought it was the start of something and he..... well....'' He shrugged. He didn't want to dis the older Hale; especially not at the scene of his family's massacre, in front of the only survivor.

 

''So when he comes back with a wife....'' His father picked it up and the Stilinskis exchanged a glance full of understanding and mutual respect. Maybe that looming discussion wasn't going to be as painful as he supposed. Of course, that would all depend on whether or not the man remembered the Red Bull.

 

Yeah, it was gonna be hell. He was gonna be grounded  **forever** , basically.

 

''Pregnant.'' Derek grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets and curling in on himself in a posture that screamed his lack of comfort with the conversation. He still powered forward, forcing more words out. Mad respect. ''Aunt Olivia was pregnant. That's why …. the family ......'' He'd thought it had been a reunion or something; even though most people had those in the summer and the Hales were killed (murdered) in mid-fall. Man, that sucked. He wanted Kate to be alive so he could be charged with assault.

 

''So Kate had a psychotic break.'' The sheriff nodded, taking a breath to continue; only to be interrupted by Allison's protest.

 

''Kate wasn't psychotic! Dad, you can't let them.....'' She turned to her father, upset and wanting someone to fix it. Why she thought her aunt deserved defending, he didn't know; but it was totally inappropriate. He didn't need Derek's shuddering twitch to know that. Stiles bit his lip to keep from lashing out at her. No way would her father take that well, not to mention his brother-from-another-mother.

 

''Allison.'' That gentle rebuke came, not from her parent, but her boyfriend. He had never been prouder of the guy then when he ignored the tears the girl unleashed and went on. ''She killed  **babies** . In a really, really horrible way. I kinda think she had to be?'' Her face crumbled and Scott moved forward to hug her. He would've protested (she needed a reality check, not comfort) but trusted his buddy knew what he was doing, in this regard. Lord knows no one else understood Ly..... **No** , he couldn't think of  **her** . Not yet. Later, when he had time to be as devastated as he felt. ''Hey, it's not your fault. You didn't know. She was just really, really good at hiding it, okay? I mean, she fooled your dad, and he's really smart.'' Chris blinked in surprise and Stiles nearly choked himself to death swallowing the scoffing noise he wanted to make. The cough he'd intended to cover  **that** became a hacking fit that distracted everyone enough that they were able to get back to mapping out their story. 

 

''Kate kills the Hales. Peter, Laura, and Derek survive.'' The young Alpha made a noise that could only be described as a whimper and turned his back when everyone looked in his direction. Stiles shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. He shook his head at the concerned looks and gazed pointedly at the sheriff. His father sighed and made a 'give it to me' gesture. He was obviously grateful for any help to explain this werewolf crap; but he also obviously knew the kind of things his son came up with on a good day.

 

And this hadn't been a good day by anyone's definition.

 

''Kate hires the nurse to look after Peter. Get him plastic surgery, but hides it. Gives him drugs to brainwash him into thinking Kate is his soul-mate. Scarred, broken Peter is the Peter who rejected her. Once he 'admits' they are meant to be …..'' His father takes up the tale again, a look of pride flitting briefly over his face. He wants to be happy about that, but there is gonna be too much parental disappointment later on for him to get his hopes up over one, fleeting expression.

 

''She plans to reward his admission by 'healing' him.'' There are nods all around. Well, except for Allison, who is apparently so invested in her aunt that she is reluctant to accept anything that puts Kate in any role but 'innocent victim'. He hopes her father gives her a good talking to (or therapy) before he reaches his limit for her attitude. Derek also doesn't nod, but that is most likely more due to his lack of comfort with the subject matter than being a selfish child. Hunh. He didn't know he thought that about the girl. He needed to keep that opinion to himself for a while. Like, ten or fifteen years? Should be enough time for it to be funny rather than offensive. ''He has a few moments of clarity, maybe she misses work or a dose or something. Whatever the reason, Peter is able to gather a small bit of evidence regarding the fire. He contacts Laura......''

 

''It wasn't contact.'' Derek still isn't looking at anyone, but at least he's paying attention to the conversation. Good sign? Probably not. Probably just acknowledgment of an unpleasant task.. ''She got a series of emails. They made her nervous, she wouldn't show them to me. She said she had to check some things out, but not to follow her.'' His voice was choked with guilt and grief. It was blatantly obvious that he blamed himself for his sister's death. Stilinski walked over and put a hand on the leather-clad shoulder, ignoring the violent flinch away. He reached out again, and this time the sympathy was accepted. 

 

''She would've wanted to come to me with any information.'' His father points out, turning back to the rest of them. He doesn't move his hand, leaving his arm extended for the minimal comfort the surviving Hale was willing to take. ''Peter would've wanted revenge. They fought, he accidentally kills her....'' The elder Stilinski takes a breath to continue; not as calm as he was pretending. Stiles doesn't know if it was the fact he was planning to lie to his men, the whole werewolf mess, or just the fact they were talking about two psychopaths.

 

''That's why he thought he was a werewolf!'' Chris had apparently reached his limit of watching his baby girl with a 'monster'; because Allison was standing under his arm instead of cuddling in Scott's. Which freed his bestie up to contribute to the cover, instead of comforting his uninjured girlfriend. ''Because if he's a werewolf, an 'uncontrollable monster', then it's not his fault.'' Shoulders that were their only view of the newly made Alpha relaxed slightly at that. Stiles has to admit, it was a good thought. He'd planned on saying the lycanthropy hit during Peter's recovery; but this worked better with subsequent events.

 

''He runs around in the woods for a while, literally losing his mind, before spotting Scott.'' his father gave him a sharp look, letting him know he still wasn't forgiven for lying to the man. He nods.  _ Noted _ . ''He becomes convinced that you saw something. Which is why he starts stalking you and Stiles. Possibly he even thinks you're involved in the fire, once he sees you with Allison.'' There's another 'why is this my life' sigh and a repeat of the hand over the head; this time avoiding the goose egg. ''We can offer the nurse a deal to confirm the murders, so.....'' 

 

''Ah, no we can't.'' He's the center of attention again and his head is once more starting to ache. He and his buddy need to come up with some sort of signal for when he needs a pain-drain. Seriously. Stiles runs both hands over his own head, pressing the heels of his palms briefly into his eyes to keep himself from fading. Focus is slipping through his fingers, they need to wrap this up before he loses all ability to be coherent. ''She's dead. Peter switched to her car when he ditched me. She's in the trunk.'' He swallowed against the memory of seeing a woman stuffed into the small enclosure like a discarded rag doll.

 

''Why are you rubbing your arm?” His father abandons Hale and comes over, taking hold of his wrist and trying to push the sleeve up. He's too touched by the obvious concern to attempt to pull free. Not that his dad doesn't usually express concern, far from it. It just usually comes in the form of a joke or manly nudge. This is …. different. He wishes they were done so he could have his freak out and get a hug. He really wants a hug right now. ''Where are you hurt? Did he bite you?'' And now he has Chris' attention. Lovely. This look is less concern for his health and more ….. well, he's not sure what to call the expression of someone who is waiting for word on whether or not they'll 'have' to kill you. Because while the climax of tonight's events may have shown that Scott wasn't dangerous – they proved beyond all doubt that Stiles  **was** . 

 

''I turned him down.'' Ah, crap. He hadn't meant to say  **that** . He hadn't meant to reveal  **anything** about his little 'chat' with Peter in the parking garage. Except, you know, for the bare facts needed for the police report. As little as he could possibly get away with, even then. Now, however....... 

 

''He took 'no' for an answer?'' Scott was obviously thinking about how  **he** hadn't gotten a choice. Which was unfair. It wasn't  **his** fault that Peter was running on the adrenaline rush from gaining an Alpha's power when he turned Scott; and more focused on revenge than pack-building when he made his offer to Stiles. 

 

''Why?'' Derek asked, making him jump. He hadn't realized the werewolf had shook himself loose of his funk, let alone was standing that close. It made him want to put a bell on the guy. He shrugged.

 

''He seemed more interested in finding you and Kate than....'' He didn't want anyone to ask why Peter had come to him for help in finding his nephew. He really, really didn't. If they had to have the discussion at all; he wanted to have it with Scott in private; preferably after plying his friend with his favorite snacks. Maybe after letting him win a video game or six.

 

''I  _ meant _ , why did you turn him down?'' There was a note of injury in the tone. Apparently, Scott's rabid (henh, rabid – focus! Bad!Stiles) denial of wanting to be a werewolf, treating it as a curse or disease while taking advantage of the power had really hurt the born wolf's feelings. He couldn't give the answer he'd given Peter, in that case. That would only make things worse, and he wanted to make things better for the poor guy. Well, as better as he could, considering. His half-baked plan gained a few more ingredients. 

 

''He said it could kill me.'' He waited for the nod, ignored the tightening of his father's grip on his wrist, the hitch in his friend's breath. Once that possibility had been confirmed, he nodded himself. He let every emotion he had for his father (pride, respect, love – so much love) rise up in his eyes as he unflinchingly met the sheriff's gaze. ''No power, no 'upgrade' is worth losing my father.''

 

No one spoke for a long moment. He saw the intent to hug in the Sheriff's gaze, nearly leaning forward in anticipation. God, he needed that comfort right now. After the night he'd had, the decisions he'd made, things he'd done – he wanted to just be curl into the elder Stilinski's embrace and _breathe_. Just for a minute. Just a brief, manly clutch of the rock-steady strength he'd relied on his entire life. He deserved a few moments of rest to get him through the aftermath. A couple seconds, couple deep breaths and he'd have what he needed to finish this up (cover story, statements, _**Lydia**_ ) and finally, finally collapse.

 

''You wouldn't have lost him.'' Okay, he was really starting to resent Allison. He'd been mature, he'd been supportive, he'd accepted that 'first love' took priority over 'best friend'. He was okay with it, really – it wasn't like he hadn't put his father and Lydia ( _ **Lydia**_ _, God …_ **.NO** _, focus, Stilinski_ ) above Scott in his own personal hierarchy. If she kept interrupting, dragging this out and generally making everything more difficult for everyone than it really had to be; he was seriously going to lose his shit at her. Which would probably spell the end of his life-long bro-ship, so he bit his cheek to keep from yelling at the girl. ''He seems pretty okay with the werewolf thing.''

 

She waved a hand at where the four dark-haired males were standing, a short distance from where she and her lighter-haired father were grouped. Hunh. He hadn't realized they'd clutched up like that. It totally looked like they'd split into the sides they were taking. Scott looked pained, but didn't shift his position, didn't even shuffle his feet. Stiles smiled at him before turning to correct the girl's assumption, smile melting swiftly off his face as he altered focus. He was just opening his mouth when his father squeezed his arm and turned to the Argents.

 

''He means lost as in death, not lost due to becoming a werewolf.'' The Sheriff shuddered, obviously unsettled by the mere thought of losing his son. He shook his head, wincing and raising one hand to the lump over his ear. Only the fact he didn't seem dizzy or incoherent kept his son from hauling him off to the hospital; cover story and police reports be damned. From previous eye-contact, he knew there wasn't any funky pupil reaction going on - unlike his own gaze, which was probably still showing the effects of the Red Bull, dammit - so a concussion was unlikely. ''We need to decide how Derek got involved and why he isn't arrested.'' Yeah, no concussion; not with thinking as focused as that going on.

 

''He should be arrested.'' Even her father frowned at her for that one. Scott looked like she'd kicked him in the nuts. Poor guy had a real inability to relate to people not doing the right thing. The girl seemed confused as to why they were all looking at her like she was insane. She should probably get used to it, if she was going to keep saying shit like that. Arrested? He was staring to think Kate was more representative of the Argent family than he'd assumed. The women, anyway. ''He was helping Peter kill people!''

 

''No, he wasn't.'' Good old Scott. It looked like it was physically painful for him to disagree with his girlfriend; but his sense of right and wrong was fortunately stronger than his hormones. Which was a good thing, especially back when he'd needed the guy to talk him out of his wilder 'get Lydia away from Jackson' plans. The plans were no longer necessary, thankfully; but it was still good to know the other teens morals had survived all the chaos of recent events. ''He was ….he......'' Brown eyes flickered as thoughts blatantly raced through his besties brain. ''Talking! He was trying to talk him into turning himself in. Y'know, after he found out it **was** Peter, which he didn't know when people were being killed.''

 

''When did he find out?'' Like it was any of Chris' business. Wait, he'd better answer, actually. He wouldn't put it past the hunter to jump to conclusions and come gunning for the last Hale despite the lack of proof of any wrongdoing. Being a creepy sourwolf with a desperate need for social skills wasn't a crime and was, in point of fact, perfectly understandable; given the givens.

 

''The night of my first game.''

 

''The one you missed?''

 

''Yeah.'' He shared a commiserating glance with his father. How many times had a case necessitated a change of schedule? It had gotten better when the man was elected; but solving crimes still interfered with planned events, anniversaries, etcetera to a nearly absurd degree. Doing so unofficially was apparently subject to the same subset of Murphy's laws as official investigations. Hopefully, he would be able to let the authorities (mostly just his dad, at this point) handle any future detective work. Yeah, with his larger than average bump of curiosity? He wasn't counting on it. ''Tracing the text was my way of apologizing for accusing him of being the unsub.'' He let the older Stilinski handle the explanation of that term, rubbing his face as fatigue started to really pull at him. The slight tremor in his hands meant he didn't have long before he was going to crash.

 

''Stiles?'' He blinked and looked up. Victoria Argent _when did she get here_ was standing by her daughter, holding her by one arm like a prison guard. Derek as standing up from where he'd obviously been kneeling, attaching the claws to his uncle's hands. Chris was seeding the 'evidence' forensics would find to back up their story, under the Sheriff's direction. And Scott was giving him worried face. All of which added up to his checking out for a good _long_ while. Shit. Well, the upside of being dragged to the hospital was that he could insist on his father accompanying him and then rat the man out for his own injuries. Not to mention, it would make checking up on Lydia that much easier. God, he hoped Danny hadn't punked out on him. He'd hate to be mad at Danny. ''Stiles?'' Oh, right. He should probably answer.

 

''Yeah, buddy.'' He stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide the trembling. Last thing he needed was to be taken out of the loop on this. Not knowing would drive him absolutely crazy, making the rest he was starting to need on a medical level damn near impossible to get. ''What have we got?'' The question got him an amused look from his father, which he returned with a shrug. If he didn't want his son to be obsessed with detective shows – blatant disregard for actual police procedure not withstanding – he shouldn't be such an awesome detective himself. Just saying.

 

His best friend was obviously unsure of how long he'd been out, or how well he was retaining information; because he went over the entire cover story. He started with what they'd already decided about Kate and Peter's supposed relationship, and went on to all the subsequent explanations. From Peter knocking Derek out at the school (from behind, to keep his identity from his nephew) so he could attack Scott when the boy came to apologize; to Kate fixating on Derek as the 'real Peter' who loved her and kidnapping him so she could torture him into 'remembering' that. They'd even covered Jackson, who had apparently decided that Scott was on steroids he'd purchased from Derek and followed him to prove it; only for them all to be attacked by Kate and her goons. Scott was going to go to the hospital with Allison and her mom, so that they would be in place for the alibi of Allison freaking out over Lydia and running to Scott for comfort; who insisted that his girlfriend face her fears and return to the ICU with him as emotional support. According to what they'd agreed on, _Peter_ had freed Derek, who had argued with his uncle about turning himself in. Which is when Kate had attacked, knocking the younger Hale unconscious and eventually being killed by the older one. The Sheriff and her brother arrived around then - the former getting knocked out when a just-wakening Derek had shouted a warning about the trip line he'd been about to step on and the latter shoved him out of the way a little too energetically. Peter had come out, ignoring his injuries as he headed for Chris, who shot at him. Dodging the bullets, the other man had triggered one of Kate's bobby traps and set himself on fire. Rather than go through another six years of recovery, this time in a prison hospital; he'd clawed his own throat open. Which is when Stiles had arrived, running so far behind everyone else due to how long Danny had tried to talk him out of trying to save Derek from his uncle's stalker.

 

''Everyone got that? Everyone know what to say?'' His father looked around, gaze lingering most stringently on the little trinity of Argents. The elder two nodded, but their daughter had to be nudged before she showed agreement. Allison was touching her bare neck – he supposed the family pendant her aunt had given her had been sacrificed to give the cover story more credence, the forensics more believability. Something about the necklace was bugging him, but his pulse was staring to pound again, making his brain feel fuzzy. He really just wanted to lie down, to recline his body in a horizontal position.

 

Which reminded him.

 

''Don't give too many details. Too much detail is a sure-fire way to show you're lying.''

 

''Stiles.''

 

''And make sure to get some things wrong, or just different from other people. Too much similarity is also....''

 

''Stiles!'' He gave the older Stilinski a hopeful smile and was rewarded by a trying-not-to-be-amused scowl. He saw that expression a lot, actually, and not just from his Dad. Even Scott had given him that one, once or twice. ''Don't help, son. Just.... stand over by Hale for now.''

 

''Sir, yes, sir!'' He knew he was being sent to stand by the werewolf not only to keep them out of the way of the deputies (that his father was calling in now) but to keep the guy from disappearing into the woods and thereby remaining a person of interest, innocent though he was. He didn't blame the man for the impulse to split, either. If someone was giving him the evil eye to the level Mrs. Argent was; he'd want to bail, too. Even just watching her aim that ice-cold glare made all his body hair stand up, not just the ones on the back of his neck. He was so unnerved, he started to shiver. No, wait, that was shock. _Shit_. He hoped the deputies brought an ambulance. He didn't want to be admitted, and getting help before shock really set in would keep him out-patient.

 

''Victoria.'' He twitched at the gravely voice, even though it wasn't addressing him. Great. Nervous ticks were a sure sign he was about to lose all ability to focus. ''Victoria, you need to get them out of here.'' Her husband's voice wasn't sharp, but it was stern. He let his mind drift, knowing if he tried to pull it away from the Argents' family dynamics in his current condition, he'd end up trying to be their family counselor. Not that they didn't need therapy, the lot of them; but he didn't want to get more involved with them than he already was as best friend of daughter's boy friend. A very distant relationship and he was getting a a very strong feeling that, with the Argents, distant was very, very good. ''Victoria.''

 

''The wolf should be cremated.'' Wow, that was cold. That was space-vacuum cold. Also, cruel, given where they were standing. Possibly sadistic, because he wasn't sure she meant the _dead_ werewolf.

 

''Not gonna happen.'' Derek's hostile snarl was perfectly understandable. Her smirk was challenging, implying that she was perfectly willing to push it; to remain at the crime scene until her presence blew their cover story wide open. _Rude_.

 

''He's already recovered from such injuries once.'' Now Chris was getting into it. Lovely. Couldn't the guy pick another way to show support for his wife? Agree to join her book club or taste-test for her cooking group or something? Something not making a difficult situation damn near impossible? His father was face-palming and he felt like doing the same, only using both hands. These people had a serious problem with limits and boundaries. The way Mr. Argent had man-handled Jackson, for instance.....

 

Oh.

 

Oh. _Idea._

 

He was a _**genius**_.

 

''I won't …..'' Derek's eyes were starting to flare red and Allison's bow came back up. Scott stepped forward, hands raised as he tried to calm everyone down. The Sheriff's hand was on his sidearm, thumb snapping loose the safety strap. Yeah, he needed to speak up before things went completely FUBAR.

 

''We will if you will.''

 

He _felt_ everyone go 'wtf?' even though no one actually said it out loud. They all turned to face him, expressions various degrees of incredulity and/or confusion. His father's had a layer of exasperation to it; like he was surprised Stiles had interfered. They seriously needed to talk more, if that was the case. He'd thought his father knew him better than _that._ Derek's eyes were still glowing, but there was more hurt than anger lurking behind the stoic mask. Scott was the only one to be expectant, hopeful even. Allison was just …. he didn't even know what that look meant. He didn't want to spare the time to figure it out, either. He had more important things to work out than what his buddy's girlfriend was thinking.

 

''Why should we agree to that?'' Victoria sounded like a soccer mom, like they weren't discussing anything more important than who would bring what snacks to the game. It was giving him a serious wiggins. ''Kate wasn't a monster.''

 

''Kate may not have been a werewolf, lady; but she was _definitely_ a monster.'' Anger gave him back a little of his focus. He had the horrible feeling he was going to need it, too. At least for a little while longer. He'd probably collapse if he tried to move, though; so he just stayed where he was, letting his tone put the emphasis on his words that his lack of gestures couldn't. ''A scratch can turn, right?''

 

''If the claws go deep enough.'' Chris agreed, sounding somewhat relieved, honestly. Maybe he wasn't as psycho as the women in his family. Or maybe he just didn't like the odds.

 

''They went deep enough.'' Derek stated. He crossed his arms over that impressive chest and glared, hetero-chromatic eyes not any less intimidating than the red ones. ''I'll agree to that. Peter being cremated if Kate is.'' He had to give it to the guy; he kept his voice steady and his tone even. There wasn't any sign of weakness, despite how unsettled he had to be by the subject matter and absolutely no indication of the hostility he had to be feeling.

 

''Taking advice from a teenager.'' Victoria sneered. She was going to continue, when the Sheriff lost his hold on his temper.

 

''Hey! That 'teenager' is my son, and he is smarter than most adults I know.'' Blue eyes flicked judgmentally over the woman and her husband. ''Present company included.'' His hand went up when she opened her mouth. ''No! I don't know what you think is going to happen if my deputies catch you here; but your sister-in-law getting off scot-free for _mass murder_ isn't it. You need to _leave_. **Now.** '' He pulled out his service piece, keeping it pointed at the ground. ''Before you're arrested for interfering in a police investigation, for starters.''

 

''Sheriff.'' The completely uncompromising expression on the other man's face silenced Chris' objections before he even voiced them. He sighed and laid a hand on his wife's shoulder. ''I'll call you from the station.'' The look she sent him promised many nights on the couch, and Stiles tried not to feel sympathy for the man. He'd made his marriage bed, he could lie in it. Or not, as the case may be.

 

''See you soon.'' Scott's farewell hug apparently clued the other teen in on his condition, because he came out of the embrace to his father settling his department-issued jacket over his shoulders. He curled into the warmth, letting everything else fade as he leaned against........ ah, crap.

 

''Sorry, dude.'' He tried to straighten up from where he'd been using Derek as a prop, only to be pulled back against the firm body. Firm _furnace,_ more like. He, no other word for it, snuggled into the elder man with a sigh. Embarrassing. Hopefully, they would all pretend this part hadn't happened. His hands stopped trembling and the shivers slowly came to an end. Maybe he wouldn't go into shock after all. Now if only his pulse wasn't trying to use his head to play the William Tell overture....

 

''William Tell? Really?'' Great. He hated it when his inside-his-head voice became his actual voice. ''Sounds humiliating, if funny.'' The gruff voice was soft now, soothing in an almost brotherly way. He grunted when a hand cupped the back of his neck and all his aches and pains just melted away. Best part of having werewolf friends, in his opinion. Stiles tried to form words, to express his gratitude, but he didn't seem to have any energy left to do more than stand there. Well, lean there, actually. ''Shhhh. Rest, Emissary. Rest.'' Man, that sounded almost affectionate. Who knew the sourwolf was such a softy?

 

Wait.

 

Emissary? .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whee! This one was fun! Lydia's POV to close us out. Apologies for any misuse of Hawai'ian terms or mythology. No offense is intended.

-x-x-x-x-

 

''Umf.'' Lydia struggled to open her eyes, her whole body aching, with several points of agony. She blinked, tears springing up at the stab of light. From the ceiling and the soft beeping she could hear, she knew she was in the hospital. ''St...'' Her throat was so incredibly dry. She started patting around her blankets to find the nurse call button. If she was lucky enough to get Melissa McCall in response, she could get news on Stiles as well as pain meds and water.

 

''Lydia? Hey.'' The soft voice was familiar, but not the one she wanted to hear. _Stiles. Where is Stiles?_ Of course, Scott would be just as good a source of information as his mother. Maybe moreso. ''No, don't move. Danny, get her some water, please?'' There was a hum and slight vibration as the bed moved, shifting her to a somewhat upright position. One of the blurry shadows caught the pillow before it could slide down under her shoulders.

 

''Hey, Lyds.'' She blinked rapidly at her oldest friend, trying to clear her eyes so that she could see the cup he was no doubt holding out. Raising her hand to take it was a mistake, as sharp pain radiated down from her shoulder and stabbed at her. Hissing, she slumped backwards and let a fresh wave of tears fall. She didn't care how pathetic she looked, she _hurt_ and she wanted the drugs she was entitled to. _**Now.**_ ''We should call a nurse, she needs painkillers.'' Lydia nodded, pleased her friend was on top of things. Maybe after the painkillers, she'd be able to handle the news about Stiles. Because if he wasn't here.... She pulled her mind away from all the bad reasons her (potential) new boyfriend wouldn't be glued to her hospital bed and tried to focus on his best friend.

 

''Let me try something.'' Warm, calloused fingers closed gently over her forearm. Just as she was tensing up to yank away from his grip and demand the nurse; the pain vanished, draining away and leaving a wonderfully floating feeling behind. Stunned, she opened her eyes to find Scott breathing through his nose, as if he was trying to manage …..

 

''Oh my God.'' Danny gasped. Lydia turned to see him staring at where the other boy was holding her arm. She looked down and felt her mouth drop open. Black lines traveled under the tan skin like angry veins before fading out near the elbow.

 

''Better?'' He let go her slowly, brown eyes searching her face for any sign that …. whatever he'd done ….. was wearing off. She gave him a nodding smile, taking the cup from Danny's lax hold (thankfully, he hadn't dropped it in her lap during his shock) and sipping carefully. Nothing spiked and her stomach didn't rebel; so she took a larger drink, resisting the urge to just chug it down.

 

''What _was_ that?'' Danny asked, eyes wide and curious. ''I thought you were a werewolf, not a curandero or something.''

 

''That's one of the good parts of being......'' Scott trailed off, his own eyes going wide – with surprise rather than curiosity. ''Wait, you _knew_? How did you..... are you.....?''

 

''No, I'm totally human. My grandmother, though; she's nanauli.'' Lydia hoped her blank look didn't look as fish-like as Scott's. Because that would be pathetic. She sipped her water and tried to appear knowledgeable. Danny shrugged and explained ''It's kind of like a witch? She can read the signs in the natural world to see the truth of the supernatural world. When my parents moved here, Puna told them about the werewolves and the massive amounts of magic in the area.''

 

''Dude, why didn't you ever say anything?'' She fought not to roll her eyes. He couldn't honestly be this clueless, could he? Not and share classes with Stiles. _Keep calm, he's fine. Scott doesn't look worried, just dumbfounded. Emphasis on the 'dumb'._ Her friend's face echoed her disbelief as he stared at the other boy, trading a brief, perplexed look with her before he spoke.

 

''Uh, you mean besides being packed off to Eichen House?'' The back of her neck tingled at the name, the rest of her skin shuddering into goose bumps. She frowned as the reaction passed through her. That was **weird**. Given that she was in the hospital from a _werewolf bite_ and the most puppy-like boy she'd ever met was apparently now a werewolf _himself_ , that was saying something. ''When the Hales were around, it didn't seem to matter. And it's not like I had any proof to point the Sheriff in the right direction for a suspect in the murders.''

 

''Yeah, I guess........''

 

''Where's Stiles?'' Okay, that came out a little harsher than she intended; but she really didn't want to wait until the two boys were done chit-chatting to find out if she should panic or not. Last she'd seen her new (potential) boyfriend; he was driving off with a psychopathic monster from a Gothic horror story in the back seat of his beloved Jeep. No way that ended well for one of them and she wanted, she _needed ,_ to know which. She set the now-empty plastic cup down with a careful, quiet 'tap' of determination. She fixed her best 'I'm-Lydia-Martin-and-you're-not' stare on Allison's beau. He actually swallowed nervously and glanced at both the door and the window, blatantly checking the exits. While she was pleased to see her ability to strike terror into the heart of the average teenage boy was undiminished by what she was sure was a massive downgrade in her personal appearance; she'd rather have an answer to her question. She sharpened her tone. ''Scott.''

 

''Grounded! He's grounded?'' He fidgeted a bit, giving her a look that pleaded for her leniency. As if she would be mad at him for how little sense that answer made. She frowned, trying to fit this new fact into place. It wasn't working, like a piece from jigsaw trying to unlock a puzzle box. Danny spoke up just as she was about to give in and ask for clarification on the matter.

 

''Why would he be grounded? And why would that stop him being here? This is _Stiles_ we're talking about. Are we **sure** he's not scaling the building?'' He actually went over the window to peek out. She wasn't entirely positive he was joking, even though the tension was successfully lessened. .

 

''He's grounded because of the Red Bull.'' Lydia felt her brow furrowing and concentrated on making her face relax. Perplexing as that statement was, there was no need to advertise her confusion. Not when Scott was continuing without any prompting. ''Last time he mixed that stuff with his Adderall he had a seizure or an allergic reaction or something and the only reason he's still …..'' He cleared his throat, obviously upset at the mere memory. She didn't blame him. The thought she might never have gotten a second chance with the boy who'd admired her from afar for years was …. unpleasant. ''….he's still alive is because he was visiting me in ICU when it hit. He promised his Dad **and** me **and** my Mom that he wouldn't touch another energy drink. _Ever._ Especially not.....''

 

''Red Bull.'' The other boy finished. He flushed a little, which she only spotted because of the length of their friendship. She decided she'd have to find a way to keep that connection now that she was not only **not** dating Jackson, but was planning to date the one person her ex hated more than anyone else. Everyone thought it was Scott he despised, but she knew better. She'd have to find an opportunity to make sure her friends, new and old, were also fully informed. ''Dude, I didn't know. He never said.....'' Okay, so Stiles got the drinks from Danny; but she was still confused. Why had he wanted them? When had he been in contact with Danny? How had he gotten away from Peter? Inquiring minds wanted to know these things, and so very much more.

 

''No one's mad at _you_ , Danny. Stiles knew exactly what he was doing and decided it was worth the risk.'' A fond smile crossed the tanned face, quirking the lips sideways and making the unevenness of the jawline more pronounced. Cute, but she couldn't help but think of the look of pure joy on another face when she'd chosen to continue dancing with **him** rather than chase after the boy she'd _thought_ she loved. Knowing she could make someone that happy by so little a thing was flattering as well as humbling.

 

''He's okay, though, right? He's grounded, not admitted? Or was he grounded after he was discharged?'' Lydia looked for the call button again. Not only did she want a more coherent explanation, for which Melissa was her best bet; but the pain was edging back into her awareness.

 

''He's fine.'' Warmth and callouses made contact with her arm again, bleeding away the ache that had started to throb at her. So that worked more than once, good to know. She sighed, keeping it soft so she wouldn't miss his next words. ''Last time was four cans to wash down a double dose with nothing to bleed off the adrenaline spike. This time, he only had, like, two cans, maybe two and a half, to boost a fading single dose. He's fine, just exhausted. Well, and probably frustrated at how effective Derek is at keeping him from sneaking out.'' His grin invited her to share his amusement at his best friend's situation. Which she did, but she was honestly more lost than before. Every question that was answered just seemed to spark more confusion, more questions.

 

''Why is Derek at Stiles' house? Does this mean the Sheriff knows? Why did Stiles ask me to guard Lydia?'' Wait, what? Was that why Danny was here? What about her other friends, meaning Allison? For that matter, where were her parents? If she'd been in any pain at all, she was fairly sure this was where she'd burst into tears and beg for her mother. Bless McCall's werewolf whammy, then; because she didn't need that humiliation.

 

''He.... you know what? I need to do this right.'' Scott went over to one of the guest chairs and picked up his backpack, pulling out a notebook and a pad of paper. He put the pad down on the table, adding a pen and moving the whole thing into position over her lap. Danny added a fresh cup of water and placed the pitcher within easy reach. He shifted a chair closer to her bed and took out a pad of his own, watching expectantly as the other boy opened the notebook, holding it in his hands like he was about to give a book report. He looked nervously at them both and cleared his throat. ''Right. Just... write down any questions you have for after, okay? I'll try not to get too lost in the details.''

 

It was a fairly concise (occasionally entertaining) story, and she chided herself for forgetting that the boy's grades weren't due to lack of _intelligence_ , but a lack of _attendance._ Worrying about being able to breathe most likely made it hard to concentrate and tests were problematic when you missed half the lectures for them. Especially if the teacher (Harris wasn't the only one, she was sure) wouldn't let you reschedule or make them up when you missed them completely. He didn't spare himself or Stiles any embarrassment or try and justify some of their less than stellar decisions. Well, not more than an excuse or two per incident; but that was boys for you. He seemed more focused on making sure they understood what had happened, step by step, so that they would comprehend what happened in subsequent events than he was in making himself sound good. She didn't see the point in writing questions down after the first few occurred to her, as he ended up answering them a couple sentences later. Keeping her curiosity at bay was easy when she was getting an explanation for things she hadn't even thought to ask. When he finished, she offered him some water – like the gracious hostess she was – which allowed the other boy to speak first.

 

''If you rode back with Allison and her mom, why did they get here before you?'' Danny had started writing halfway through the 'briefing', crossing out only a third of the lines; leading her to believe he'd been more taking notes than noting points of inquiry.

 

''I didn't ride back with them, I ran.'' He squirmed under their gazes. ''If you'd spent the walk to her car listening to her telling your _girlfriend_ that if she wanted a 'pet', she should go for a female cat; because dogs, especially the **boys** , were only permissible when you had them 'taken care of' and asking you what your boss charges for the _**castrations,**_ you wouldn't've wanted to get into a car with her either.'' Lydia bit her lip and looked away. It would be rude to give voice to her amusement to his face. Her friend was less successful, snickering into his fist during a poorly executed cough. ''It's not funny! Mrs. Argent is really scary! And that's compared to Mr. Argent, who shot me with a crossbow that one time!''

 

''I'm sure Dr. Deaton won't let them …. fix... you.'' She choked out, nearly losing it at the betrayed look he sent her. Lydia probably shouldn't be enjoying messing with him so much, since he was her hookup to the wonders of side-effect free pain management; but she was so very relieved. Stiles was fine (for certain values of 'fine') and Peter was _gone_. Allison was no doubt upset over her aunt, but she had found the woman to be supremely creeptastic and was somewhat glad she'd gotten her comeuppance. An opinion she was not going to share with anyone anytime soon. Well, maybe Stiles. Speaking of whom....... ''You said Derek Hale called Stiles an Emissary? Is that like a liaison or more like an ambassador? What does the position entail? Will they have to live together?'' He was gaping at her. Unacceptable. She wanted answers, dammit. She snapped her fingers at him, making him flinch and start flipping through his notebook.

 

''It's more like a fusion of the two. Someone to help the Alpha protect the pack, but not a 'wolf themselves. Most have some kind of magic, but it's not a requirement. They mostly help the Alpha negotiate with other packs, supernatural creatures and/or threats, and honorable hunters. Sometimes they help vet potential pack members, when the Alpha is new to the territory or just new to being Alpha.'' Danny shrugged, leaning back in his chair. ''Since Derek is both, we don't have to worry about Jackson getting the bite. Stiles knows that would be the worst of bad ideas.''

 

''No shit.'' She smiled sweetly at the shocked looks they both gave her. Like girls didn't curse? **Please**. She'd heard fouler language during slumber parties than she ever witnessed during a lacrosse game.

 

''Uh....so, Derek is only staying with the Stilinskis until he finds a house or apartment or something safer than a warehouse or his family's place. Someplace he can put in security and stuff, in case hunters come after him for Kate. Even though he didn't have anything to do with her dying. Anyway, Stiles said something about needing it to be at least a couple weeks, to prove the guy innocent, which I don't get. I mean, he was acquitted and all, so it's already been proven he's not guilty.'' Well, it was good to know she wouldn't have to time-share her boyfriend. Boyfriend. She should probably inform Stiles they were dating before expecting him to live up to the title.

 

''In the court of law, maybe; but the court of public opinion takes a little more effort.''

 

-x-x-x-x-

 

''What the hell is a 'Stiles'?''

 

''A name.''

 

She probably shouldn't snap at her father. At least he was **here**. Of course, there was no guarantee that the bastard had let anyone notify her mother that she'd been injured; no doubt preferring the opportunity to manipulate her into reversing her decision to live with his ex-wife. She really hated her intelligence, at times. **Knowing** he was just trying to 'win' some stupid competition with her mother (not that _she_ was playing it) and the main reason he wanted her 'home' was so he could get access to her trust fund was emotionally damaging in several ways. His unsubtle hints about her injury being a 'chance to correct her mistakes', to get back with Jackson made her want to scream. That would happen about the seventh of **Never**. _Think about her future_. **Right**. Like the only future possible was being a trophy for him or her future husband, not succeeding by merit of her own genius. Lydia deeply regretted the move to the 'standard' hospital room. In ICU, her visitors had a time limit. Here, she was stuck with a man she couldn't throw out – like she had her ex, seconds after he'd walked in – because he had visitation rights.

 

''Isn't that the name of that scrawny boy who's been stalking you?'' He ticked disapprovingly and she had her hand on the pitcher before deciding it was probably a bad idea to throw it at him. Even if it was empty. ''You need someone better than _that_. After all, he _is_ the reason you got.....''

 

''Stop right there.'' It was almost a snarl, and she had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes go wide. He even stepped back a pace. Nice to know she was just as intimidating to grown men as the adolescent ones. Useful, that. ''I don't know what you think happened, but Stiles _saved my_ _ **life**_.''

 

''Sweetheart.'' God, she hated that endearment. Almost as much as she hated the condescending tone he used . She gave him a dark look when he tried to lay a hand on her shoulder – where she had stitches, **moron** – and he ended up fussing with her tissue box instead. ''If you'd been with Jackson, he'd have kept you from being hurt. He's stronger, smarter.....'' She scoffed, not bothering to hide her disdain. He seemed thrown by her contempt for a boy he thought was everything wonderful. Honestly, he was far more invested in her relationship with the idiot, now that it was over, than _she'd_ been when it was at its height. ''Peter Hale was recovering from a coma, I'm sure a fit young man like Jackson Whittmore could have fought him off with ease.''

 

''And gotten us both **killed,** Dad.'' She tapped a finger on the bed rail, strictly because she knew the habit was one that irritated him. It might have been a petty revenge, but she was a teen-aged girl. Petty was practically in the instruction manual. ''Peter was a **psychopath**. All he wanted was to hurt someone, to kill people. Do you think it was _his_ idea to let me go? Let alone to release me somewhere I could get immediate medical attention? That was _**Stiles**_. Stiles got me _out_ of the Jeep, gave me his _phone_ so I could call instead of trying to walk, and drove off _alone_ with a man he had every reason to believe would _kill him_ the minute he wasn't useful.'' She might have been breathing a little hard at the end of it, mostly from rage. Her father really didn't know the boys involved, but she knew quite well what would've happened if it had been Jackson instead of Stiles in that situation. First, he would've tried to run, abandoning her without a second thought. Second, only when his own precious skin was at stake would he have attempted to fight. Third, if there'd been any guarantee that doing so would secure his own safety, he'd have thrown her to the (literal) wolves with not the slightest hesitation. That her father placed the co-captain over the bench-warmer only served to illustrate how little he actually knew (or cared) about her. ''I'm going to date Stiles, and that's final.''

 

''Lydia, I thought you were smarter than this. Dating a boy who stalked you ….... Your reputation would never recover. No one would take you back after you acted like such a nitwit. You can't do this.''He seemed to think that settled the matter, because he actually smiled at her as he patted her knee. Her foot twitched as the impulse to kick him in the face was hampered by the blanket over her legs. Pity. She was sure the look on his face would've been **priceless.** Before she broke it, anyway. ''I'll make sure he's not on the visitors list, okay? I'm sure he'll get the hint once security has him arrested.'' God, he didn't even know Stiles' father was the Sheriff. And he thought he was competent to make decisions about her life? When he didn't even bother to do any research into the most important people in it?

 

''You make a single change to my list of visitors and Stiles won't be the one getting arrested.'' Lydia tossed back the blanket and stood up, gripping the bed rail when her balance wobbled for a few seconds. Should've dangled her legs for a minute, apparently. Dammit, she knew better. She batted his hand aside when he reached out, irritated at showing weakness in front of him. At least her voice was steady and unwavering. '' Mom is the one with custody, not you. Which means any decision you try and make regarding my care are _illegal_.'' Which wasn't strictly true, but she was betting he didn't know that. He was far too fond of manipulating others into doing what he wanted to put any effort into anything remotely resembling _work_.

 

''Your mother isn't here.'' He must honestly think her stupid to believe she didn't know the truth behind that, or to miss the smug in his eyes.

 

'Because you kept anyone from calling her, no doubt.'' Guilt flashed across his face and she smirked at him. _Yeah, that's right; unlike you, I actually have a functional brain. God, what did Mom ever see in him? He must have..... Y'know I'm gonna stop that train of thought right there. Ew._ ''I'm going to take a shower. You might finally call Mom so she doesn't decide to sue you for child endangerment later.'' She knew the threat of lawsuit, however improbable, would motivate him to do what she wanted. He'd done nothing but complain about how the legal profession had 'ruined' his business by making him pay both alimony and child support. Like it wasn't his own inadequacies that had him skirted bankruptcy. ''And, Dad? If you're not going to respect my more than competent ability to make my own decisions about my own life? Don't bother coming back.'' She slammed the door to the bathroom and started getting ready for her shower. The world felt fuzzy and indistinct, but she chalked it up to her pain meds.

 

…..foul odor......stench.... fetid.....

 

…..hair.....hers?.......blood?......

 

…..no.....no, he's dead......

 

….let go!......let me go!......

 

_scream_

 

_Scream_

 

_**Scream!** _

 

**SCRE.........**

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
